


Breathing

by Berty



Series: Breathing [1]
Category: due South
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot, Semipublic Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-01
Updated: 2006-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-12 10:36:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Berty/pseuds/Berty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP. Alley-sex. No redeeming value whatsoever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nicci](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicci/gifts).



Breathing was the key.

If he could just keep breathing.

Then he'd be fine. This would all suddenly make sense and there'd be a perfectly rational reason why Ray was...

Fraser's head hit the wall with a dull thud; the scratch of the cold brick against his scalp anchored him and kept him from being completely lost as Ray tried to kill him with kindness.

He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed through his mouth - deep, wracking mouthfuls of damp Chicago air that did nothing to calm him. On the contrary, the very air tasted of excitement; the slight trace of Ray's hair gel combined with cooking smells, damp wool, car exhaust, wet tarmac and cigarette smoke. It was an unlikely blend to find arousing, but this was Ray's environment, and as alien as it might feel to him, Fraser had to admit that the city had never felt more 'right' than since he'd met this new Ray - this quick-tempered, light-haired, lightning-smiled...

"Ray!"

A low, rolling chuckle was his only answer.

Fraser's hands clenched the air aimlessly, unsure of where to settle. What was the accepted etiquette in such matters? Should he hang on to the rough brick at his back? Try to find some purchase there? Or should he hang on to his tunic, hoping the scratch of the wool and the cool of the buttons would remind him of his duty, remind him how dangerous... how insane this was? Or maybe hang on to Ray's hair, which bobbed so tantalisingly in front of him. He could just reach out and scrape his nails through the short sides, up into the blonde spikes, and cup that fine-boned skull in his palms, holding it, steadying it so he could... no.

No.

Keep breathing.

Ignore the dim, intermittent flicker of the streetlight at the end of the alley that threatened to expose them, and the drizzle that dampened his skin, gathering into ticklish trickles that soaked the collar of his tunic. Disregard the quiet voice in his mind that was quoting, even now, even at this very moment, every felony he was committing and every law he had already broken tonight. (Christ! No wonder he was alone.)

Don't move.

Don't do anything that might distract Ray and return him to his senses before he completed this act.

Because if Ray stopped now, Fraser thought he might just crumble to dust and blow away altogether. He felt that ethereal – that insubstantial.

But Ray wasn't stopping. Not at all. He seemed determined and focussed on his goal – which apparently was to wring from Fraser the most perfect, unforgettable, soul-branding orgasm of his life.

Ray's mouth was heat; burning, searing heat that drove the ice from his veins. And Ray's mouth was also cool water, soothing and cleansing; waking him from a deep sleep filled with nightmare visions of an empty future.

Indescribable sensation was overwhelming him, shaking him to the very fundamentals of his existence, making his heart labour painfully in the hollowness of his chest and making his jaw work for words he didn't have. Only...

"Ray."

Fraser shifted his weight, trying to lock his knees. His boots scraped loudly, echoing off the opposite wall. Ray moved with him, never relinquishing their connection and never slowing his pace. This new angle afforded Fraser some small range of movement and, unable to help himself, he tightened his buttocks easing more of himself into that exquisite touch.

Ray accommodated him willingly, and opened his jaw wider, sending a shock of even greater pleasure thrumming up Fraser's spine and down his thighs and, finally, Fraser knew nothing but the perfection of it. His knees buckled and he slumped forward, his head dropped to his chest. But Ray was there with strong hands on his hips; long, fine fingers clutching him through the material of his pants, pinning him, bracing him and lending strength now his own had deserted him.

Fraser could feel the grimace contorting his face as he warred between desired completion and the need to prolong this surprising, precious ecstasy. The decision was made for him, when Ray snaked a hand between his thighs and palmed his testicles with a cold, wet caress.

Fraser convulsed, slamming back against the wall, his back arched almost to the point of pain as he gave it all up, emptying all the frustration and the pain and the loneliness with his climax into Ray's sweet, willing mouth.

It was some few seconds before Fraser could open his eyes and look down into the shadows at his waist where Ray was fastening the buttons on his jodhpurs. With neat, economical movements, he straightened Fraser's tunic, smoothing it gently over the shocking sensitivity of his softening penis.

Looking up through the misty rain, Ray grinned, such a normal, easy gesture that it made Fraser's heart thump unevenly all over again. The fine droplets of moisture settled on his hair and reflected the light, making it sparkle. Fraser thought he had never seen anything more beautiful.

Ray stood, wiping futilely at the knees of his jeans, wet and gritty from the dirty ground. As Fraser watched, speechless, Ray stooped to pick up Fraser's Stetson, handed it to him, then rubbed his hands together and looked him directly in the eye.

"You looked like you needed that, buddy," Ray murmured quietly and stepped back into the blinking, yellow glow from the faulty streetlight, straightening his jacket and swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. He turned his head to the end of the alley where a white flicker told Fraser that Dief was waiting. "We should uh... probably get going."

Fraser struggled to find something to say, but his mind was a wreckage of questions and guilt, hopes and confusion, and he could come up with nothing that even came close to expressing any of those things.

Ray's head turned back toward him and his eyes narrowed, perhaps catching the glitter of spontaneous tears on Fraser's eyelashes. He looked at him thoughtfully then quickly stepped in and pressed a fierce kiss on Fraser's slack mouth – over so fast that he didn't have time to react.

And Ray was gone, walking up the alley with his customary sinuous gait, half graceful, half belligerent. Fraser watched him until he reached the end and turned out of sight, back towards the street and the car and their case and their normal lives.

Fraser ran his tongue along his bottom lip, gathering the fading warmth there and tasting himself mingled with the tantalizing hint of Ray; cigarettes, rain and fast food. He straightened his legs and pushed off from the wall, welcoming the ache of muscles locked too long in one position, and followed.

Nothing made sense. Nothing he'd ever learned or heard or experienced helped him to deconstruct the knot of uncertainty, gratitude and guilt that his mind had become.

What else was there to do but what he knew?

He put on his hat, put one foot in front of the other and kept breathing.

Fin


End file.
